Chicago

by Wyatt Savage

  “This isn’t my car.”

  “Still…”

  “Be lucky you’re even in one. I could boot your ass out right now.”

  “Then you’d miss out on the secret.”

  “What secret?” Kurtis asked.

  “I know the way,” Tae said softly. “I know the way to the wall.”

  “So do I, Tae,” Kurtis replied. “Head due east and look for the big-ass wall. Can’t fucking miss it.”

  Tae shook her head. “It’s not as straightforward as it looks. The aliens set traps along the way. If you don’t know where you’re going you’ll never make it…”

  Kurtis drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know a shortcut?”

  She held his look. “My cousin found a way through it all. He sent me a map via Mindspeak.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to help me?”

  Tae shrugged and for a moment, with her head backlit by a streetlight, she looked very young and vulnerable. “Why can’t we help each other?”

  “Because a few minutes ago you wanted to dirt nap me.”

  “That was before I got to know you.”

  “You’re full of shit, Tae.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  Kurtis barked a nasty laugh. The whole thing, busting out of prison, the game, sitting in a car with a woman who had just tried to kill him seemed like a dream. He put the Camry in gear and drove off.

  “Where are we going?” Tae asked.

  “A friend’s house.”

  7

  Apocalyptic Regret

  Kurtis flicked on the radio and floated the dial. Most of the channels had gone to static, but he found one station that was still broadcasting, an announcer feverishly giving a play-by-play of the night’s carnage. The city’s emergency services were overwhelmed according to the announcer. Most of Chicago’s police force had called out and those that did post were swamped with calls or under siege. Murder and looting were rampant, and the few ambulances that weren’t ferrying the wounded to hospitals were either being ambushed or used by participants to attack other participants. When the announcer started detailing all of the various monsters had been dropped down onto the city, Kurtis turned the radio off and stared outside. Whole sections of the city glowed, a carpet of flames sweeping across buildings, businesses, and rowhouses.

  “The city is straight-up turnt,” Tae whispered.

  “Turned?”

  “Turnt,” she said, correcting him. “With a ‘t.’ You know, as in crazy.”

  “It’s always been crazy.”

  “Not like this,” she said. “What’s up with your clothes by the way?’

  “Nothing,” Kurtis said, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t pick those up at Macy’s…”

  “I was given them,” Kurtis said.

  “Issued,” she corrected. Their eyes met, but she continued. “I live in Riverdale, mister. Southeast all the way.” She held up fingers, flashing what looked like a gang sign. “I got three brothers and eight cousins and I’ve seen half of ‘em in the same kind of clothes you got.”

  Kurtis was silent. What could he say? He’d been found out.

  “What’d you do?” she asked.

  “You need to know it’s not gonna be like this,” Kurtis said. “You asking questions and me answering.”

  “That’s called conversation.”

  “I’m not in the mood to converse.”

  “Gonna be a long ride then, ‘cause I have lots of questions.”

  Kurtis licked his lips, wanting her to give up as soon as possible. “I sold shit. Okay? Happy you got your answer?”

  “What kind of shit?”

  “The illegal kind.”

  “P with intent to D?” she asked, referring to possession with intent to distribute.

  “Trafficking,” Kurtis replied.

  Tae whistled. “Whoa. Big boy stuff. A ‘T-Bird.’ And here I was thinking you were just some off-the-rack white dude.”

  “That why you tried to carjack me?”

  She shook her head. “Real talk time. I was just looking for a ride to the wall. You just happened to be the right person at the right time.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Tae looked down at her bound hands. “You planning on undoing this or what?”

  “At some point.”

  “When?” she asked.

  He smiled. “A time of my choosing.”

  Time felt as if it were passing slower than expected as they faced a lull in the rampaging violence. It wasn’t. Time was still running out. Four hours and fifty-five minutes. That’s how long Kurtis’s HUD said they had to reach Jimmy Mulvey’s place, then he’d have to figure out what to do about Tae and the goddamn wall.

  “Where we headed?” Tae asked.

  “Mount Greenwood,” Kurtis replied.

  “Who’s there?”

  “The wife and son of the guy who gave me this car.”

  “Where’s the guy?”

  “Dead.”

  “You kill him?’

  “Nope,” Kurtis answered.

  “You know how many people have been killed already?” Kurtis remained silent as she continued. “Thirty-three thousand and change. That’s a record, even for Chicago. Hell, it’s enough to make a person start using again, huh?’

  Kurtis held her look. “If that’s some kind of veiled reference to me, I never used.”

  “A dealer who actually drew a line? Shit. Impressive.”

  “Only an idiot uses the product they’re selling.”

  “May I make an observation?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s a damn shame for you that the game just started,” she said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “As many people as you probably killed selling your ‘product’? You’d probably have a million points by now.”

  Kurtis pointed to the wire around her wrists. “That’s definitely not coming off now.”

  “Truth hurt too much? Big boy need a hug?” she asked, sarcastic and cooing.

  “It’s not the truth.”

  “As you see it?”

  Kurtis’s jaw locked. “Yeah. As I see it.”

  She leaned back. “One of my brothers died using the same kind of shit that you used to sling.”

  “Want me to say I’m sorry?”

  “Might be nice.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry he was weak and made the conscious decision to escape from reality. I’m sorry he did bad things even though nobody put a gun to his head.”

  “That’s cold.”

  “That’s the truth. I’m not one to judge. If you choose to kill yourself to get what you need it’s all good, but I got to call it as it is.”

  “They might as well have put a gun to his head,” she said.

  “Bullshit. Life’s what we make of it. I should know. I made a shitload of bad calls and it sounds like your brother did too.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Big as life, baby. All because of luck.”

  “Fate.”

  Kurtis flicked his wrist. “Fate, mystery, and ‘things that were meant to be’ are bullshit. Magical thinking. Fear and luck are the root causes of everything that happens to people.”

  “You actually believe that?”

  “I know it.”

  “If you don’t believe in anything greater than you, then why go on?”

  “’Cause I’m scared of dying. Besides, I made a promise to a man, and I figured that if I’ve been this lucky so far, maybe I’ll be lucky again.”

  “You’re fucked up, Kurtis.”

  He smiled. “I get that a lot.”

  Kurtis slammed on the brakes, glimpsing the numbers on a house off to the right. The destination was four miles away. He looked at his HUD and his stomach knotted. There was a cluster of red dots in and around Jimmy Mulvey’s house. Something bad was going down.

  8

&nbs
p; A Simple Misunderstanding

  “3847 107th Place, Nadine,” Kurtis said, following the map on his HUD to mentally communicate with Nadine. “I need some information.”

  “What would you like to know?” Nadine replied.

  “Status of the participants in close proximity to us.”

  “There are six armed participants at that address. Correction, four.”

  “What happened to the other two?”

  “There was a quick exchange of weapons fire taking place.”

  Kurtis cursed and floored the Camry. He cruised up over a rise in the road at sixty miles-per-hour and caught some air, the Camry landing hard, bouncing.

  “What’s the matter?” Tae asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Firefight.”

  “At the place we’re going to?”

  “You’re not checking your HUD?”

  “I was watching a bunch of monsters destroy Los Angeles. Apparently, they were filming The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when it happened, cause most it was caught on camera. Even the part where those things were eating those fake-ass ladies.”

  Kurtis grimaced. He pointed. “Somebody’s already at the house.”

  “How many fighters?”

  “Enough.”

  “Cut me loose,” she said.

  “No way.”

  “You need someone to fight with you.”

  “I can fight,” Kurtis said.

  “Seriously, you need some help.” He glared at her and she continued. “There are people all over this city with grudge lists. They’re using the game to settle scores and get points. I can help.”

  “How do I know you won’t try to shoot me again?” he asked.

  “You don’t,” she said, sucking in a breath. “You’ll have to trust me.”

  “I’m not at that stage yet,” he replied, swerving past several city buses that were smoldering, bodies hanging out of shattered windows.

  Kurtis shot down the road, swerving around participants who were fighting, looting, marching east toward the wall. His eyes darted between the bits of information on his HUD, but felt overwhelmed, having not yet mastered the ability to toggle between the various boxes.

  Jimmy Mulvey’s house was coming up fast. Kurtis slowed the Camry, pulling over next to the sidewalk, and put the Toyota in park. He grabbed his Glock and the photo of Jimmy, his wife, and his son, which he stuffed in a pocket.

  “Last chance,” Tae said, holding up her hands. “I can help you.”

  “You can help me by keeping low and not making a sound.”

  “How do I know you’ll come back?”

  His gaze smoked into hers. Echoing her words, he said, “You’ll have to trust me.”

  Kurtis exited the car and stared in at Tae. What was the hell was he thinking? She’d tried to kill him and he was just going to leave her there? Give her another chance to finish the job? A voice whispered in his ear, telling him to do what needed to be done. Find yourself in the Melee. Put a bullet behind her ear, Kurtis, the voice said. You can’t trust her. You’ll never be able to trust her.

  He willed away these thoughts and double-timed down the sidewalk. He ducked between a few cars, keeping his eyes glued on Jimmy’s house, a brick Craftsman perched on a slope. Gunfire flashed in the windows and Kurtis grimaced, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  The drums began pounding in his head with every step, heavy tom-toms. They were thicker this time, as if the tension on the drumheads were out of whack.

  A sense of dread gripped Kurtis as he ran across the front lawn, the drums echoing, blood beating a hi-hat tempo, obliterating all other sounds. The drums soon merged with the percussion of his heart, which sounded like a hammer striking a piece of granite.

  He was sixty feet from the house and yet it felt like he was moving in slow-motion, his shoes heavy as if filled with sand, his body wrapped in a steel-lined vest. He saw things up on the top of adjacent houses. They were seven or eight feet tall with no eyes, enormous mouths, and long, thin arms that they moved up and down and side to side, as if offering some kind of twisted blessing.

  “What the hell are those?” Kurtis asked.

  “The Noctem,” Nadine replied. “They are observing the Melee.”

  Kurtis raised his Glock and took aim at the Noctem. “Be careful, Kurtis.”

  “What?”

  “There is a miniature explosive contained within one of the nodules implanted by the Noctem. If you turn your weapon against the Noctem the explosive will detonate, opening your carotid artery or releasing your head from your shoulders. Death will be almost instantaneous.”

  Kurtis lowered his gun and the Noctem stared at him, vulpine grins on their freakshow faces. Images and data flashed on Kurtis’s HUD, but he’d crawled so far down into his zone upon spotting the aliens, into his hunter’s trance as his father used to say, that he wasn’t looking at any of it.

  Ignoring the aliens, he hazarded a few more steps and that’s when he saw that the front door was open. It was ajar only by a few inches, but that was reason enough for concern. Ten more steps and his boots crunched the shards of glass that littered the front steps.

  Windows were broken and there were bloodstains on the front stoop. Kurtis flung himself up the front steps. Against the din of gunshots and screams nearby, and the far-off echo of police sirens, Kurtis barnstormed up the front steps.

  Without hesitation, he drew his gun and entered the open front door. His body tingled with certainty. Death was inside the house.

  The first body lay in the threshold.

  It was a female dressed in a compression shirt and black yoga pants. She was lying on her stomach, twitching. Half of her head was gone.

  Kurtis stepped over the corpse, his breath coming in stabbing gasps. He spotted two more figures lying in the living room, tangled up, as if they were dancing on the floor. Both had been shot through the head. Beyond them lay a teenage kid with a kitchen knife sticking out of his neck at an odd angle. The wooden floors were streaked with blood and gore and Kurtis slipped twice as he inched past a bookcase to get a glimpse of the kitchen.

  A figure was on the ground, propped up against the kitchen island. A woman in her mid-forties holding two pistols. Kurtis recognized her from the photo back in Jimmy’s Camry. She didn’t recognize him, however, and fired. Kurtis dropped to the ground in a tuck-and-roll, searching for cover.

  “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” the woman screamed.

  Kurtis lay there for several seconds. Then he croaked, “Mrs. Mulvey?”

  He heard the sound of a pistol being reloaded. “Mrs. Jimmy Mulvey?”

  “The fuck do you want?” the woman asked.

  “Your husband sent me here.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Kurtis reached in his pocket and pulled out Jimmy’s wallet, the one he’d been given back in prison. He held the wallet like a baseball and tossed it around the wall at the woman. He glimpsed her hoisting her pistols at the wall and she opened fire again. Kurtis covered his head as bullets lanced through the drywall and studs, barely missing his head.

  “Fucking thief!” the woman snarled.

  “He told me to come for you and your son!” Kurtis shouted.

  Two more shots rang out, smashing bits of the wall. They hit closer this time. The woman was zeroing in on him. That’s when Kurtis remembered the words Jimmy had mentioned. “Mortem ne…” Kurtis froze. He couldn’t remember the rest of them. “Mortem ne…I’m sorry, that’s all I remember. Jimmy told me the rest, but I can’t remember it.”

  Silence flooded the house. “Timueris,” the woman said.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Mortem ne timueris,” she said.

  “That’s it,” Kurtis replied. “That’s what he said to tell you.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t. I only know that Jimmy said it to me and it kinda seemed appropriate to repeat right now.”

  “It means fear not death.”

&nb
sp; Kurtis nodded, running a hand through his greasy locks. “Are you gonna shoot me if I come out, ma’am?”

  A long sigh escaped her, and Kurtis could hear her labored breathing. “I s’pose not,” she answered.

  Kurtis wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, but he went with his intuition. He stood and held his hands out in a gesture of goodwill. He stepped away from his hiding space, moving out into the open so that he could get a better look at Mrs. Mulvey.

  She was in a bad way, lying in a red, glistening heap. She angled her pistols at Kurtis as he moved toward her, then fought to elbow herself up. There was a nasty black hole in her chest where a round, probably a shotgun slug, had burrowed its way inside. Mrs. Mulvey wheezed with every breath and blood dribbled out of the piping of her nostrils.

  “You know my husband?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “He watched over me, day and night,” Kurtis answered, wishing he didn’t have to give the full story. He was covered in enough grime and blood splatter that she might not recognize his outfit just yet. “Made sure to look out for me, despite his better judgment.”

  “He was your mentor? You seem kind of long in the tooth for a new guard.”

  Kurtis sniffed. “He was my guard.”

  “Jesus, you’re a prisoner?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I was,” Kurtis answered.

  “What happened?”

  “This crazy-ass game happened.”

  Mrs. Mulvey shook her head. Her color was bad, curbstone gray, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I meant…what happened to Jimmy?” She was struggling at this point to get even a few words out.

  “He was killed, ma’am.”

  “You did it?”

  Kurtis shook his head vigorously. “Something…some monster did it. He saved me. He gave me his car, his wallet, his gun, and told me to come here to protect you and your boy.”

  The woman smiled darkly. “You’re a little late.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I killed ‘em all anyway,” Mrs. Mulvey said. “Most of ‘em were our neighbors. People I’ve known for ten years or more. Almost had enough points to heal myself, but two of ‘em accidentally shot each other, so it doesn’t count.”